


Fuck or Die: Steter

by ReedMeme



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Breeding, Consent under Duress, Fuck Or Die, Fucking, Knotting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Oral Knotting, Piss Play, Porn With Plot, Scenting, Watersports, but not from Peter, mentions of these:, oddly sexual food metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReedMeme/pseuds/ReedMeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Stiles are on their way to Sonora when a monster drives them off the road with dark intentions.  </p><p>It's fuck or die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck or Die: Steter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goldenpetal13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldenpetal13/gifts).



> Stiles is 18 in this fic. Peter's whatever. He's Peter. He can be whatever age he wants to be, apparently. 
> 
> I wanted to write another fic while I try to figure out how to end the Matchmaking series (since I, suddenly, decided to changed the end game situation that I had written). 
> 
> But I also really wanted to write something for the lovely Goldenpetal13. Wonderful writer with wonderful stories. Thank you Goldenpetal!
> 
> Oh, and this may be a series of one shots? A fuck or die series. Depending on the reception I suppose. Just short fics that I'm thinking of writing about particular pairings with certain kinks. Dunno yet.

     The road was slick with rain, the asphalt as dull a black as the sky above them.  Huge pellets of water splashed on the windshield of Stiles' jeep.  The wipers squeaked loudly, working overtime to clear the glass of the persistent flow of water.  Stiles sat hunched over the wheel, face closer to the windshield in an effort to see clearer, while beside him a napping Peter Hale sat with his chair angled back, head lolling on the headrest, and his jaws slack.  Every so often the crackling of thunder rang in the air and the sharp, bright flash of lightning followed suit shortly after. 

     Stiles heard the man beside him shift, rousing from sleep.  Peter huffed loudly, rubbing his face with his hands and tried to peer out of the window.  His lips settled into a thin, displeased line before turning to Stiles. 

     "We're still not there yet?"  He said flatly, the disapproval clear in his voice.   

     "Dude, look at this.  If you didn't notice, I'm driving in a fucking lake."  He said scathingly, one hand gesturing to the weather outside. 

     Peering with exaggerated patience at the speedometer, Peter says with a sigh, "You're driving twenty miles per hour. A corpse can drive faster than you."

     "Once again this is a car, not a boat."  Fidgeting, and giving Peter a quick glance at the corner of his eye, Stiles adds, "and if that's your way of saying you should be driving.  I say, hells naw!" 

     Peter exhales dramatically.  "Stiles, how long have we been driving?" 

     Stiles hedged, "Welp" pronouncing the word with a pop, "It's been raining for four hours now."

     The man stared at him blankly for a few seconds.  "You've been driving for four hours?" 

     Scrunching up his face and shaking his right hand, palms open, in the air, Stiles says, "Eeeh... more or less?"  At the look on Peter's face, Stiles amends, "...maybe more?"  he says and fakes a cough into his hand. 

     The car was silent for a minute while Peter just stares at Stiles impassively.  Outside the sound of rain hammering down on the jeep is a steady drumming.  "Stiles... Sonora's only two hours away."

     "Yeah, but I've been driving really slow."  he coughs.  "I mean carefully.  Really carefully." 

     "Pull over Stiles."  Peter snarls.

     "No." 

     "Pull.  Over." 

     "No!"  Stiles snaps.

     Frustrated, Peter makes a grab for the wheel, trying to force the car onto the shoulder of the road.  In turn, Stiles sharply turns the wheel in the opposite direction causing the car to swivel on the rain slicked road. 

    "Are you crazy?  Are you trying to get us killed?"  Stiles screeched as the two struggled for control of the wheel when a large thrust from the right shook the car, pulling them out of their struggle as the force of it almost pushes the car off their lane.  Without thinking Stiles sharply turns the wheel in the opposite direction in an effort to balance the car.  But the wet road only caused the vehicle to hurtle out of their lane and into the shoulder with a crash. 

     Stiles had a dream.  In this dream he was a cheeseburger; the largest cheeseburger in the land.  In this dream, Cheeseburger-Stiles ruled a vast kingdom of chicken nuggets rich with the flowing precious resource of honey mustard sauce.  But an evil Quarter-Pounder with Cheese wanted to take this land from Stiles.  Stiles dreamt that the evil Quarter-Pounder with Cheese fought Stiles for control over chicken-nugget-land and won.  To prove it's dominance over Cheeseburger-Stiles, the devious Quarter-Pounder with Cheese dominated Cheeseburger-Stiles and entered him, merging their meats and their buns.

     Stiles heard a familiar voice faintly calling his name.  There was a sharp ringing in his ears, his back ached almost as much as his head, and he felt sharp burns on his skin where his seat belt hugged him.  The voice was getting louder and desperate.  Stiles could feel a pressure on both sides of his face, as if someone was holding him in their hands. 

     "Stiles!"  The voice called.

     Stiles opens his eyes with a sharp gasp and flails out of Peter's hands.  Stiles began to cough, eyes stinging, chest heaving while a sharp, stabbing, pain shot through his neck.  He let out an agonized moan and unconsciously clutched at the arm closest to him.

     "No!"  Stiles wheezed. "Get away from the cheeseburger!"      

     "It's okay.  It's alright, I've got you."  Peter said calmly, ignoring the part about the cheeseburger, keeping his voice evenly soothing but with a hint of desperation behind it that Stiles tried to ignore, far too busy concentrating on the pain that was spreading throughout his body and the oddly paralytic fear from the Cheeseburger-dream.  "I know it probably hurts right now, but I need you to stand up.  Stiles, you need to stand up." 

     Mind clearing at the words said to him, Stiles tries to move and failed miserably, the sharp shooting pain in his back and head spiking from the effort.  Letting out a cough, Stiles did his best to glower at the man while being held in his hands.  "Screw you, kinda busy dying here." 

     Peter let out a small huff of exasperation.  "You're not dying.  You're probably just sore from the crash.  But I really need you to stand up right now because I can't carry you."

     "You yank us off the road and you can't even be bothered to carry me?"  Stiles wheezed accusingly. 

     "No, I can't be bothered to carry you because I need my hands free to protect you."  Peter replied in a disturbingly even tone, his voice dropping lower in the end.  He leaned forward, his mouth very close to Stiles' ear.  "It wasn't me.  Something drove us off the road and it's watching us right now.  So you need to get up because we need to run."

     It took a few moments for the words to register in Stiles' brain, but when it did his fear spiked sharply.  That was not Peter's intention but Peter needed the boy to move.  He did  not know how long the creature in the darkness would stand still, merely watching them from the tree line. 

     As Stiles began to grasp the situation they found themselves in, he nodded his head quickly and forced his body to stand.  He suppressed a gasp and a groan as the shooting pain in his back flared.  But just as quickly they came, the pain began to subside into a numbing, nagging, pressure under his skin.  Stiles was only surprised as long as it took for him to hear Peter let out a small groan.  Realizing that the Were had taken some of his pain, enough for Stiles to be able to move freely, Stiles moved his hands to grip the Were tightly. 

     "Where to?"  Stiles asks under his breath as he gripped the Were close to his body as Peter continued to suffer from the pain he had taken. 

     "It's behind us,"  Peter rasped, "so on the count of three, run in the opposite direction to the other side of the road.  Run straight into the woods, I'll be right behind you.  Just keep running."

     Stiles merely nodded, his heart beating harshly in his chest. 

     "One."

     Stiles' muscles tensed. 

     "Two." 

     Stiles ignored the pouring rain that continued to pelt them from above.

     "Three."  Peter growled at the same instant Stiles bolted around the overturned jeep and across the road. 

     Stiles hears an angry roar, pitched higher, different, from the ones he knew Peter makes.  Stiles ran, not looking back, the beating of his heart pounding in his ears and the heat of his body burning away the cooling touch of the rain drops.  Sparing a hope that Peter was behind him he ran into the woods, past the tall, thin, pines and sharp, bristled brushes of the forest.  His footsteps were as loud as the panting of his breath and his hands were flailing more than he liked, but he ran through the woods with as much effort as he could muster, all the while desperately wishing that he wouldn't trip. 

     Then past the pouring rain and the noises he made Stiles heard the thundering steps coming up behind him before coming to a stop.  The booming sound of rocks crashing into each other rang in the air, followed by the tell tale sounds of trees being ripped apart.  Then heavy roars filled the air followed by the overwhelming boom of thunder.  The flash of lightning brought Stiles into his senses as his ears rang from the noise.  Past the fear, past the desperation to flee, a single thought crossed his mind.

     "Peter."  The words came out in a breathless huff. 

     Before he could think things through, before a single, sane, fibre of his being could protest, Stiles turns back to run toward the sounds of monsters fighting in the dark. 

     Shortly after, past a patch of trees, Stiles saw two shapes fighting in the rain.  After another boom of thunder and a flash of light Stiles had a brief, clear, glimpse of the two creatures that fought.  One was the shape of a bloodied Were; so familiarly Peter.  The creature in front of him, with its long arms swinging as it beat down the Were, was taller, larger and more frightening in Stiles' eyes. 

     It stood taller than Peter by at least a foot.  It had large looping horns like a ram's or a goat's on top of a humanoid head that bore demonic features.  Oddly enough the horns bore two metal rings at their base.  Its eyes were large but sunken, its skin was marked by deep grooves that clumped into sunken cheeks.  It had a wide protruding mouth with sharp fangs bursting out of its gums, and a long, forked, tongue flicking out at the air.  It had long muscular arms like a mans, but its hands were much wider and had long thin fingers that curved into claws.  It had the body of a man, hair trailing down its chest and past its waist where it merged with thick, hairy legs and unusually large feet similar to that of a goat. 

     Terror flooded through Stiles as the creature let out a terrifying screech, swiping down with its claws to catch Peter on his side.  Peter crumbles to the ground with a pained roar as the creature that towered above him hissed in satisfaction. 

     Stiles didn't know he was moving.  He doesn't even remember when he had picked up a thick tree branch from the forest floor, or when he decided to run towards the monster before him instead of away.  But before any of these actions registered in his brain, Stiles found himself within swinging distance of the creature.  Swinging at the head with all the might he could muster before the creature's claws came down again into Peter's struggling body, the branch sharply knocks the side of the creature's face.  It staggers from the impact before tripping back on its heels and onto the forest floor, momentarily dazed. 

     Taking advantage of the reprieve, Peter forces himself up and turns to the wide frightened eyes of Stiles who was gaping at the monster and what he had done, still clutching the now broken tree branch in a death grip.  Peter picks the boy up off the forest floor and, mustering as much strength as he could while bleeding and torn, runs deeper into the forest with a still gaping Stiles in his arms.  The last thing Stiles remembers was looking into the face of the creature as it struggled on to its feet.  In a confusing sequence of images, the creature stands to stare at Stiles longingly and with a desperate screech it raises its hands towards him with a face that Stiles could only describe as being filled with frantic desire.  Then the world was enveloped in black. 

     The Cheeseburger dreams were back.  This time he was a delivery Cheeseburger, who brought packages to different picnic foods.  Cheeseburger-Stiles met a very charming hot dog who invited Cheeseburger-Stiles into his shoe.  Then Charming-Hot-Dog started hitting on Cheeseburger-Stiles and convinced him to allow Charming-Hot-Dog to cut up some pickles and shove them in between Cheeseburger-Stiles' buns. 

     Stiles woke with a frantic gasp and an erection.

     Scrambling up in a flurry of limbs he looks about him in a frenzy, searching for the creature but was, to his enormous relief, only met by a calming silence in a seemingly empty room doused in faint, flickering, candlelight.  Stiles stands still in the dimly lit, wooden room, his eyes scanning the space.  Cobwebs lined the rafters and tattered cloth littered in patches on the floor, while upturned, dusty, furniture were pushed to one side.  There was only this one great room, with aged logs piled on as walls with two deep carved out small squares acting as windows stationed at opposing walls.  Three fat candles perched on top of a dusty dresser was the only light that the room offered. 

     "Peter?"  Concern strained Stiles' voice, new cause for panic bubbling in his mind.  "Peter!" 

      A groan turned Stiles' attention at a mass huddled against a wall.  It was bloody, wearing tattered rags of what might have once been designer clothes, and its skin was smeared with dirt, grass, and other things.  Beside the huddled mass were several upturned furniture piled in front of what Stiles figured was the front door.  Looking quickly about himself, Stiles finds that not only was it the front door but it was also the only door in this cabin.  Getting back to himself, Stiles rushes to Peter's side and studies the Were's wounds. 

     "Shit Peter, those look bad."  He said, looking at a particularly nasty gash across Peter's chest. 

     Peter's breathing was shallow and harsh, and his skin felt cold and damp.  Stiles cups Peter's forehead with his hands just for something to do and keep the growing, pestering, itch under his skin from bursting out of him. 

     "No fever?  I guess?  I don't know what I'm doing.  What do you want me to do Peter?  What the hell was that?"  Stiles waves his hands frantically before quickly shrugging his wet clothes off to pile them on top of Peter.

      Peter raises an eyebrow at the effort, pointedly looking at the wet clothes before turning to stare at Stiles.  "Really?  You think piling wet, drity, clothes on top of an injured man is going to help things?"

     "I don't know!  I'm panicking here!"  Stiles seethed.  "There's a crazy goat-man-monster out there and the only guy strong enough to fight it is spilling his guts out.  And I'm pretty sure this cabin isn't going to last very long against those damn claws.  Where'd this cabin come from anyway?"

     Peter sighs before struggling to prop himself higher up against the wall he was leaning on.  "I don't know.  Does it matter?  We're lucky if anything.  That was stupid of you to come back.  You could have been killed."

     Stiles scrunches his face in offence.  "Uh, dude.  You mean _you_ could have been killed.  I seem to remember that goat-monster-man was about to check if your stomach was filled with delicious candy.  So, you're welcome." 

     Peter just stares at him evenly for a few moments as he shrugs the wet clothes off his body.  When Stiles sees him struggle with removing his own clothes, Stiles moves to help him.  The wound, thankfully, wasn't as sever as Stiles had first expected.  It seemed to be healing slowly.  There were four long and fairly deep gash marks on Peter's side, red and bloody from the tear.    

     "You're healing."  Stiles sighs with relief.  "Fuck, you're healing.  Thank god."

     Before he could think of it, Stiles reaches forward to gently caress the skin around the wound, feeling the soft, hot, skin in his fingertips.  Peter shudders at the sensation, his eyes still staring at Stiles.  Stiles slowly takes his hand back, trying to not make it so obvious that he had surreptitiously studied Peter's figure, admiring the older man's lean frame and small cherry nipples.    

     Looking about the room, Stiles searches for something to help clean the wound but found nothing to his frustration. 

     "A child of Cernunnos."  Stiles hardly hears Peter mumbles. 

     "A what?"  Stiles asks, moving back to kneel in front of Peter who was looking at him evenly. 

     "The thing that attacked us.  I'm pretty sure it's a child of Cernunnos."  Peter said, and at the dumbfounded look on Stiles' face explains further.  "Cernunnos is a horned god in Celtic lore.  Not much is known about this particular god outside of the Pillar of the Boatmen and a few other druidic journals."

     "Seriously?  So that thing was like, you said, one of it's children?"  Stiles raises his eyebrow sceptically.  "Here?  In California?"

     "Horns, face, claws."  Peter lists out.  "Seemed to fit the bill in what I've read.  But the thing that makes me think it's one of those is... well..."

     Stiles' shoulder sinks as dread begins to pool in his stomach.  "Well what?"

     "All of those coupled with the rings at the base of its horns as well as its distinct cry.  Which the thing made.  A cry that only happens when..."  Peter's words cut off as he winces. 

     "When what?"  Stiles asks a bit desperately. 

     "When... it wants to mate."  Peter finishes, his eyes still staring at Stiles evenly.  "Stiles, it was looking at you."

     "Me?  So?"  Stiles asks before his eyes widened with comprehension.  "Noooooo."  He drawls.  "You've got to be fucking kidding me." 

     Whatever Peter's next words were cut off by a loud, sharp, cry from outside of the cabin.  The sound of it sent shivers down Stiles' spine. 

      "Cernunnos is interpreted as the god of nature and fertility.  Nature as in life and death, and fertility as in the rebirth.  Its children bear the characteristics of their progenitor.  Specifically in the way that they are born, the way they breed, and the way they die."  Peter explains while Stiles watches the tears on his waist fade into a thin, pink, line.  "They... breed... by taking a worthy subject; a host.  They breed with the host..."

     "Breed?"  Stiles squeaks, interrupting Peter's words, his eyes wide and frantic. 

     "Who are then impregnated with the next generation of children before they die."  Peter continues.

     "Semelparity!"  Stiles exclaims.  "I know that one."

     Peter raises an eyebrow and Stiles merely shrugs. 

     "I read a lot."  Stiles explains. 

     Nodding, Peter continues.  "Once they die, the impregnated host will carry the child within them for one night before the new children are born in a violent episode."

     "A violent episode?"  Stiles mined whirled at the possibilities.  He really wished it didn't. 

     "The children tear themselves out of the host."  Peter says evenly, his eyes still disconcertingly staring at Stiles.  "Before they devour the host and their dead progenitor for their first meal.  Life, death, rebirth."

     "But why does it want me?  I'm guessing, what, this monster failed high school biology?  I'm a dude, dude!"  Stiles flails as he rambles on.  "It can't knock me up!" 

     Peter remains quiet but levels him with a look that, Stiles supposes, conveys some sort of obvious information.  Stiles just glares right back at him before his eyes slowly widens. 

     "You've got to be kidding me."  Stiles says dryly.  "It doesn't matter that I'm a dude, does it?" 

     Stiles remained quiet for a long while before he realizes that Peter was still studying him with an even eye. 

     "What?"  Stiles asks curiously. 

     "You're taking this a lot better than I imagined you would."  Peter says with a tilt of a head. 

     "Yeah, I'm surprised to."  Stiles says weakly, his shoulders drooping wearily before he falls on his back to the floor.  "Mythical monster wants to knock me up.  Frankly I expected a lot more flailing on my part.  So, what're we going to do?"

     "Well, we could wait it out in here and maybe it'll lose interest, but..."

     "But, that's not likely.  Is it?"  Stiles finishes for Peter.

     "No.  I'm pretty sure it'll eventually break down the door way before it'll lose interest.  I could go out there and fight it, try and kill it."  Peter offers.

     "But, you're likely going to die in the process considering you almost died fighting it _before_ you were even injured by it."  Stiles huffs out.  "And I don't think I'll catch it unawares again with a tree brunch.  Not that it seemed to do much damage." 

     "Well, there _is_ another option..."  Peter says quietly, evenly. 

     Stiles furrows his brow.  "What?"

     "It could save your life, and it wouldn't require any attempt to kill a mythical creature." 

     Stiles sits up happily, desperation in his eyes and the voice that follows.  "Seriously?  If it means living, I'd do anything right now.  What is it?" 

     Peter just stares at him for long moment, so long that Stiles spazzes out his frustration in a flurry of waving limbs. 

     "Seriously Peter, what is it?  What do we need to do?"  Stiles presses. 

     "Fuck."  Peter says evenly. 

     "Fuck what?"  Stiles repeats, not quite understanding. 

     "Fuck who."  Peter says in the same tone. 

     Stiles stares at him for a moment before bursting out a laugh.  "Yeah.  Okay.  Fucking will save the day.  Seriously guy, what?"

     But Peter's expression doesn't change, and eventually the smile slips from Stiles' lips.

     Stiles moans.  "You're not kidding, are you?  Let me guess.  It only mates with virgins."

     A smile quirks from Peter's lips.  "You got it.  You need to be spoiled.  There's a chance that it'll lose interest once you've... been deflowered." 

     "Ancient creatures suck."  Stiles mutters. 

     "And fuck."  Peter adds. 

     "Shut up."  Stiles mutters. 

      Stiles stares at his own hands for a minute as thoughts raced across his mind.  The situation seemed unbelievable and frightening at the same time.  Being wet and cold in the near dark while a monster hunted them outside didn't particularly help in having a calm and collected mind.  His frantic thinking was disturbed when a large bang reverberated from outside the room, followed by a shrill cry.  Heavy, booming, sounds echoed as something started pounding against the walls.  Stiles, noticing Peter trying to get up, hurries over and lays a hand on his shoulders.  Peter startles with surprise and looks at Stiles with wide, oddly calculating, eyes. 

    "Stiles..."  Peter begins but was cut off when Stiles launches himself forward to take Peter's lips into his.  The surprise of the act catches Peter off guard, not really realizing that Stiles would have actually chosen that option.  Peter slowly, but firmly, pushes Stiles away.  "There are other options."

     Stiles looks at him evenly, his eyes wild and dilated.  "Options that don't involve dying?"

     "I could take it."  Peter says quietly, his eyes briefly glancing at Stiles' wet, red, lips. 

     " _Or_ , you could take me instead."  Stiles answers before slowly moving his way down.          

     Leaning down slowly, Stiles moves to capture one of Peter's nipples in his lips, sucking on the tender flesh and eliciting a deep rumble from the Were.  Stiles nips at the tip with his teeth before painting the area with his tongue.  The sensation has Peter reaching up to clutch Stiles' hair in his fists, the rumble in his chest getting louder as Stiles moves slowly down his chest with his tender lips, all the while working on the buttons of Peter's pants.  Peter watches Stiles closely as he lowers the zipper slowly.  Reaching Peter's crotch, Stiles breathes warm breathe on the Were's lap before slowly leaning further down to capture the hard bulge in his mouth, Peter's precum already staining the briefs.  Stiles sucks through the fabric, wet with rain and a hilt of saltiness from the pre cum leaking out of Peter's cock.  Then very slowly, Stiles pulls off Peter's pants before diving back to once again mouth the bulge through Peter's briefs. 

     Stiles can smell Peter's arousal through the fabric, a heady musk that sends his head swimming and his libido kicking.  His free hands are up seeking, dancing, across Peter's hot skin, while Peter continues to tenderly caress Stiles' short, cropped hair. 

     "Stiles."  Peter rumbles huskily. 

     Stiles looks up into Peter's hungry, glowing, eyes as he slowly pulls the man's underwear off and throws it across the room.  Peter's hard cock slaps onto his belly, stiff and leaking from Stiles' attention.  Stiles studies it wonderingly, staring at the shining red tip leaking a copious amount of liquid that glistened in the candlelight.  Peter's balls were large, tanned, and looked particularly succulent in Stiles' eyes.  Peter watches him curiously and as still as stone, as if he were afraid that any movement on his part could dispel the fantasy that took shape before him.  Reaching forward with his hands, Stiles moves to grasp Peter's hefty manhood between his thin fingers, studying the weight of it, relishing in the warmth of the tender skin. 

     "Stiles."  Peter rumbles again, sounding absolutely wrecked as Stiles starts to pump Peter's cock, his eyes staring hungrily at the weight in his hands.   

     Stiles starts to lean in close, bringing his mouth slowly towards the Peter's stiffness.

     "You don't have to."  Peter says quietly, huskily, before Stiles can get to his cock, one hand still gently caressing Stiles' head. 

     Stiles looks up at him with hungry eyes before he reaches out with his tongue to lap at the tip of Peter's dick to taste the salty liquid leaking out.  "I want to."  He says honestly before moving to take the whole thing into his mouth. 

     Peter gasps at the heat and the wetness, his fingers moving to clutch at the short hairs at the top of Stiles' head.  His hips buck up unexpectedly at the pleasure of it and Stiles briefly gags at the effort. 

     "Sorry." Peter mumbles before forcing himself to rest as still on the ground as possible.

     Looking at Stiles below him, on all fours, ass sticking up, his head between his legs sucking on his cock, Peter can't help the rumble of arousal that escapes his lips.  Peter caresses Stiles' bare back, relishing on the softness and the heat of it.  He could smell the teen's arousal mixing with his own as it began to fill the room.  A loud, banging, sound followed by scratches made on wood filled the cabin causing Stiles to remove himself from Peter's cock to look around with surprise, as if he had momentarily forgotten about the monster that hunted him. 

     "No, don't think about it.  Ignore it."  Peter rumbles, reaching a hand to take Stiles' neck and pull the teen forward to kiss him.

     Their lips met, soft and eager, and their tongues danced inside each other's mouths, wet, thick, and searching. 

     "There's only us."  Peter says huskily in between kisses.  "Only you and me, here, in the dark." 

     Peter moves himself off the floor, gripping Stiles' just below his ass to pull him up and off the ground, before settling him down in the middle of the room on his back. 

    "Close your eyes and just think of this."  Peter says as he nuzzle's the teen's throat, kissing and licking at the skin, slowly making his way down the teens chest to capture one of his nipples between his teeth. 

     Stiles hisses out a breath as Peter bites and sucks at his nipple, his hands goes to clutch at the older man's hair. 

     "Peter."  He cries out as Peter continues to suck on the nipple while the man rhythmically surges his hips forward to rub his bulge against Stiles' ass.

     "You smell so fucking good."  Peter's voice is rough, ragged, and eager.  His lips moving through the teen's skin before pulling Stiles' arms up and nestles his face into the teen's arm pits.  "You smell so fucking good." 

     The thought of Peter scenting him, the feel of Peter rubbing his face on his neck, his chest, on his arm pits, has the teen painfully bursting out of his underwear. 

     "Peter, I've got to... it's too tight."  Stiles gasps out as Peter rubs his face on Stiles' body, his hands caressing and gripping the eager teen. 

     Peter, thankfully, moves to tear Stiles' clothes off of him.  Literally.  The man shreds Stiles' pants off of his skin, exposing the teen's cowboy boxers, causing his cock to happily pop out of the boxer's piss slit.  Stiles sighs at the freedom and gasps as Peter quickly squeezes his cock before pulling off the last piece of fabric on his body. 

     The sensation of Peter moving down to rub his face all over Stiles' crotch was overwhelming, the thought of what he was doing was exotic. 

     "You just smell so..."  Peter manages huskily before moving down to lap at Stiles' balls before taking them into his mouth.

     Stiles bucks his hips up at the sensation of Peter's wet, hot, mouth and groans at the suction and the feel of his tongue.  Stiles' balls fall out of Peter's mouth with a pop as the Were makes his way down Stiles' body in gentle kisses.  Gripping Stiles' hips, Peter pulls the teen closer to him and lifts him up slightly above the floor before diving down to nose at Stiles' opening.  The teen's breathing comes in ragged gasps as Peter starts licking at his entrance. 

     "Peter, fuck... that's, wow..." Stiles babbles incoherently as Peter works to press his tongue deeper into the teen. 

     The sensations were new and fantastic and totally unlike what he had ever expected things to be, and he had expected a lot considering the amount of time he had spent in the internet 'researching' the act. 

     Peter's tongue darted quick, fast, and eagerly at his opening, as if it were fighting for entrance.  Stiles huffs out rapid breathes as Peter eagerly dives his tongue deeper into the teen, the Were's grip tightening on Stiles' hips.  The sensation was this light, wet, pressure that pleasantly tickled a spot right below his belly.  The sensation travelled up inside of him, spreading out in a rush of blood and warmth that had Stiles leaking out copiously. 

     "You taste... so good."  Peter's voice is rough and ragged, his eyes glowing it's deep, ocean, blue.  Licking a long stripe up Stiles' cock, Peter engulfs the teen in one fell swoop and takes him easily to the hilt. 

     "Fuck!"  Stiles cries out as a loud bang echoed in the background.  But the sound of it was lost, a distant crash lost in the swell of sensation that was his cock in Peter's throat. 

     When Peter started to hum, Stiles started to buckle and thrash. 

     "Peter!"  Stiles cries out as Peter continues to take him in, his head bobbing franticly as he sucked Stiles' cock hard and fast. 

     Then Stiles feels it, a thumb pressing into his saliva slicked entrance.  His already moist passage allowed the digit easy access and Stiles groans at the feeling of it as Peter continues to suck his cock. 

     "Peter, I'm... I'm not... gonna last."  Stiles huffs out as Peter continues to bob his head on his crotch.  "Dude, I'm going to come." 

     At the words, Peter pulls off Stiles' dick with a pop, garnering a soft whine from the teen. 

     "No.  Together."  Peter said raggedly as he instead moves his way up, in kisses and licks, up Stiles' body to suckle on the teen's nipples.  The feel of Peter's hot mouth, of his teasing teeth, has Stiles reaching forward to grasp at Peter's hair.  "I'm going to fuck you, going to knot you.  Pump you full of cum.  Fill you up.  Knock you up with my pups.  We'll come together."

     Under any other context, those words might have called for critical thought, but the words, said at this particular moment, has Stiles' lust skyrocketing to new heights.  He bucks his hips up, meeting Peter's thrusts as the man slips in another finger.  Or two.  Stiles has lost count.  His attention was divided between appreciating Peter's suckling of his nipples and the fingers fucking his ass. 

     "You like that?"  Peter rumbles as his mouth travel's up Stiles' neck to meet his lips.  A tongue slips into Stiles' mouth, meeting the teen's own.  Their tongues danced together in a symphony of licks, sucking, and caresses.  "Do you want me to fuck you hard?  Knot you and pump you full of my cum?" 

     "Peter."  Is all Stiles manages as he moves up to eagerly recaptures Peter's mouth into his. 

     "Say it."  Peter rumbles into Stiles' mouth.  "Say it."

     Stiles doesn't know how he manages it, but with a gasp and buckle of his hips to meet Peter's frantic thrusting, he says, "Fuck me."

     "Stiles."  Peter growls into the teen's skin, his fingers frantically moving in and out of the teen, stretching me steadily.  Peter removes his fingers and lines his cock at Stiles' eager entrance. 

      "Breed me."  Stiles whispers quietly in Peter's skin. 

      In the back of his mind, Stiles thought that the act that followed should have hurt.  That there should have been pain, no matter how eager Peter had been with his tongue or his thrusting fingers.  But the pleasant sensation that followed overwhelmed most thoughts that passed through his mind.  If he had been more aware, Stiles would have seen the black tendrils that snaked up Peter's forearms as the man slowly, but surely, fucked into his ass while taking away the pain that would have, should have, come. 

      But instead there was only a faint, pleasant, numbness that came with Peter thrusting into him.  The numbness wasn't complete.  It wasn't whole.  Stiles could still feel Peter's heat, his girth, his long, hot, cock in him.  But a faint, pleasant, tingling sensation pulled the stress out of him and Stiles' muscles relaxed to easily take in more of Peter's heft. 

     "So warm, so tight."  Peter mumbles into Stiles' neck, his teeth elongating into fangs to graze at the skin.  His voice deepened and a persistent rumbling echoed from his chest.  "So tight.  So right.  Fuck, Stiles." 

     The black tendrils slowly fade away as Peter started bucking his hips, thrusting forward to press his whole length into Stiles to the hilt.  Stiles lets out a loud gasp as the head of Peter's cock presses something that sent this pleasant pressure rippling from Stiles' lower belly. 

     "Fuck!"  Stiles cries out as Peter presses himself hard, deeper, inside the teen.  The pleasant pressure intensifies, travelling outward from the spot in his lower belly onto to the rest of his body, to the tip of his cock.

     Peter pulls out slowly before quickly thrusting back in, sending shivers up Stiles' spine as the Were's cock poked and prodded that pleasantly pressured spot at the base of his spine.

     Peter growled low in his ear as his fucking intensifies, becomes faster, harder, and more eager than Stiles ever thought he could manage.  Peter's hands were grasping the teen's shoulders, pulling him down on to his length as if he aimed to fucks his way through Stiles' body with the motion of his fucking. 

     So lost were the two in each other's arms that the loud crash and the splintering of wood easily escaped their attention.  There should have been sheer panic as a large, enraged creature stepped into the cabin to screech out a horrible cry that echoed in the small space.  But instead all Stiles hears is Peter's eager growls and rumbles in his ear, the slapping of flesh on flesh, and his own heart pounding in his ears.  The creature circled them, screeching out harsh cries at their writhing bodies, but its fury was ignored as Peter continued to drive his cock deeper, harder, faster into the teen's tight heat. 

       Eagerly leaning forward, Peter takes Stiles' mouth into his their tongues searching for the other, their kisses eager and sloppy.  Then a widening, throbbing, pressure began to build up in Stiles' gut as Peter's thrusting slowed.  But his eyes were still closed and his ears still deafened by his own heartbeat and therefore could not see or hear the creature screaming at their faces; it's fangs dripping the fury that came from its own twisted heart.

       Then after a loud roar, Peter sinks his fangs into the teen, breaking skin and leaking blood just as the base of his cock expanded, stretching Stiles to his limits.  Or at least, that would have been the case if thin, black, tendrils once again crept up Peter's arms.  Peter's knot widened, thickened, as the first wave of his pleasure rushed out to fill Stiles to the brim.  There was so much, might have been too much, and Stiles could feel it; Peter's release filling him up, a persistent pressure in that single spot that sent shivers throughout his body. 

      "Peter, so much..."  Stiles says weakly as a torrent of cum continued to flood into his ass. 

      "Mine."  Peter growls into the teens neck, lazily licking at the bleeding, broken skin as his cock continued to pump Stiles' guts full of his seed just as the teen released his in a torrent of moans.  "Mine."        

     Cheeseburger-Stiles woke up early that morning, calmly taking in the soft light of the dawn, before frantically moving up and out to prepare the kids for the day.  His twin Junior-Cheeseburgers needed to be fed and dressed before school started.  But all was well as Cheeseburger-Stiles had grown accustomed to cooking the happy meals at this point in his life.  It helped that his Curly Fry husband was also quite adept at cooking.  He was looking forward to when the kids had left and his Curly Fry husband could crawl into him and dip into his mayo-ketchup sauce.  It made them both very, pleasantly, soggy and full of greasy liquid.    

     Stiles woke with a start and an erection.  And a grumbling stomach.  Beside him Peter shifts in his sleep, one of his hands still resting on Stiles' stomach.  The soft light from the morning was bleeding through the splintered door and the cool wind was gently caressing his naked skin.  Peter mumbles in his sleep, his face creasing into a frown, before both of his hands reached forward to pull Stiles closer to him, nestling his face into Stiles' skin, searching up to rest at the crook of his neck.  When he seemed to have found what he had sought, Peter rumbles appreciatively before his breathing evens out into the gentle rhythm of sleep. 

     Stiles studies the man for a moment, taking in the calm morning and the frantic memories of the night before.  Here, in the warm arms, and tangled limbs, of the Were before him, the memories didn't seem that frightening anymore.  But still unsure of the protocol for post coital fear-for-our-lives-fuck, Stiles instead settles for running a hand up and down Peter's skin, relishing in the warmth of his body.  When Stiles' hand moved to cup Peter's naked, and fantastic, ass, the Were's chest rumbles causing Stiles erection to return from having been tampered by the morning cold.  It helped that it was nestled between the heat of their two bodies.  Faintly, Stiles can feel the persistent sensation of liquid leaking out of his ass.  There was something about that that sent pleasant sensations bubbling out of his belly.   

     Stiles watches as Peter's nose twitches while caresses the man's skin.  Then, with a wry grin, the teen moves his hips forward to press his stiffness onto Peter's thigh.  The contact has Peter's eyes snapping open widely before blinking rapidly to keep the sudden onslaught of sunlight at bay.  He attempts to nestle deeper into Stiles' neck, breathing in the young man's skin before licking up a long, gentle, stripes along his neck.  He rumbles appreciatively as Peter in turn moves to press his equally stiff manhood onto Stiles' morning wood. 

     "Good morning starshine."  Stiles greeted him with a wide smile.

     "The earth says hello."  Peter replies in sing song before moving up to press his mouth gently onto Stiles' wonderfully cherry lips. 

     "Guess I'm not a virgin anymore."  Stiles says brightly.  "This means I'm all spoiled and what not." 

     Peter breathes out slowly, his breathe ghosting along Stiles' bare neck.  "Not really."

     "What?  I'm not sure what you were doing, but I had down and dirty sex last night." 

     "Sex, yes.  Dirty?  No."  Peter says with a devious grin.  "You definitely could use a bit more spoiling and a lot more... dirt." 

     Stiles' cock twitches at Peter's tone.  "What constitutes as more spoiling and dirt?"

     Peter hums for a moment into the teen's neck before moving out to look at Stiles in the eyes.  "Well, there's me fucking you till I knot you and breed you full."

     "Already did that.  Old news."  Stiles interrupted with a wide smile.

     Peters eyes just narrows devilishly.  "I'm not finished.  Breed you full before pissing in your ass while I'm still locked inside of you.  Mark you up, make you stink like mine.  Then I could knot your mouth, make you drink all my cum.  Piss on your face, on your body, cover your skin with my scent so everyone will know your mine.  Then I'd keep on knotting you, filling you up, pumping you full of my cum until I knock you up till you're carrying my pups.  And more.  So, so, much more."

      "Holy shit Peter."  Stiles says with wide, surprised eyes.  All of those things should have disturbed his whole being, especially considering they came from Peter 'Zombie' Hale.  But instead it sent a pleasant shiver throughout his body and his hard cock leaking at the thought. 

      Peter smirks as he sniffs the air, his face smug and arrogant after scenting the teen's arousal.  "Looks like we got plans for the future then."

      Coming home would be an awkward event, the trip to Sonora all but forgotten, their clothes had been ripped to shreds saved for a handful of underwear.  Not to mention the car was still stuck in a ditch.  Virginities might have been lost, but memories had been gained in that torn, broken shack.    

      Speaking of which, looking about them, Stiles was surprised to find huge gaping holes, deep gashes, broken and splintered wood throughout the cabin.  His eyes widened at the splintered door as the realization hits him for the first time.  The creature had gotten into the cabin, but for the life of him Stiles couldn't remember when.    

     "Wow."  Was all Stiles could say as he looks up and notices for the first time that giant hole in the roof.  "It was really pissed.  I don't even remember when it got here." 

     "Fuck it."  Peter chuckles before moving to gnaw Stiles' neck. 

     "No."  Stiles responds playfully.  "Fuck me."

     Peter pulls him tighter against his body and captures Stiles' lips into his.  Stiles eagerly opens his mouth and invites the man in with his tongue.  A sudden thought crossed his mind that has him gently pushing Peter away to look at him with confused eyes.  

     "By the way.  I've been having the most fucked up dreams..."                     

**Author's Note:**

> Er. That's it. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Oh yeah. No beta. Edited once. I probably should have edited more, but I'm hungry so I'm going to have a late night snack and edit later. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Thanks again Goldenpetal!


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